


Windows

by girl_called_sun



Category: Casino Royale (2006)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl_called_sun/pseuds/girl_called_sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a missing scene from about the same point in the film as the the "there are dinner jackets, and dinner jackets. This is the latter" scene. Vesper can't quite hate James, and James is realising there is more to Vesper than meets the eye.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Windows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueteak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueteak/gifts).



> This is a missing scene from about the same point in the film as the the "there are dinner jackets, and dinner jackets. This is the latter" scene. Vesper can't quite hate James, and James is realising there is more to Vesper than meets the eye.

Vesper kept looking the mirror as she heard the key card snick through the lock, heard the door bounce open and swing shut immediately as the excess of force applied to open it rebounded through the hinges. Footsteps thudded across the suite. She could see her reflection not pursing her lips, not worrying the embroidery on her dress with her perfectly enamelled fingernails; she could feel herself exhale a sigh which may or may not have been relief. The sound of water crashing into the sink of Bond’s bathroom reached her, along with a loud thud and noise somewhere between a hiss and a grunt. Vesper picked up the pile of handtowels from her bathroom shelf and walked across the suite, back held straight and heels tapping softly on the wood floor. She grabbed a bottle of whisky by the neck without breaking stride as she passed the coffee table.

“Bond-,” she announced as she walked into the bathroom, now filled with steam from the hot water still gushing into the sink. He was sitting on the edge of the bath, naked from the waist up, dabbing inelegantly at a ragged gash over his ribs. He scowled at her. Vesper inhaled, slow and deep. “Bond, you were reconnoitring. Watching quietly. Seeing without being seen. How did you end up partially butchered?” Vesper swung the whisky bottle slowly as it dangled from her fingers.

“There is one of me, and I don’t have eyes in the back of head,” Bond snapped. “But don’t worry yourself, I’ve accounted for him, heh.” Bond twisted, trying to inspect his left flank and the blood dripping down it. “Ow, bloody hell.”

“Enough of the puns,” Vesper the actual accountant said. “You may believe they are the height of wit and intellectual sophistication, but the multi-million dollar poker game starts in thirty minutes and you currently look even more like a thug than normal.” She swung her whisky bottle a little faster.

“I am a thug,” Bond smiled at her, “but I’ll be a thug in a suit soon enough.”

“Not soon enough,” muttered Vesper. She placed the bottle down on the marble sink top with a decisive clink. “Bond, turn around.” Still smiling, Bond half turned, to perch hip slung on the wide lip of the bath, presenting the still oozing wound to Vesper.

“And you could pour me a whisky, that might speed things up.” he said.

“No whisky yet,” Vesper said, wetting a towel. She placed on hand on Bond’s shoulder. “Hold still,” she said, and with firm, methodical touches, she began to clean his wound. She worked from the top down, swabbing and rinsing. As Bond moved under her ministrations, she gripped his shoulder tighter, fingernails dimpling his skin. When he flinched away, she pressed in more firmly. “I said, hold still,” she repeated calmly, reaching across her body with her right hand for a clean towel. Her left remained on Bond’s shoulder.

“All these skills you have that I never knew about,” Bond said. He twisted his head to try and catch her eye in the half steamed mirror hanging over the sink. “What other secrets are you keeping from me?” Bond flexed his eyebrows at her.

“None that concern you,” Vesper said curtly. “Sit straight!” She scowled at his wolfish grin in the mirror and proceeded to squeeze scaling water down his back and into his wound.

“Ow!” Bond hissed, looking for her in the mirror again, but Vesper was inspecting the torn flesh of his back, lips pressed together in concentration.

“James,” she said, “there is paint in here.” She dabbed a fleck of something metallic out of his body. “And glass,” she added, probing deeper. Bond arched his back as she swabbed, but she kept him pulled close, never loosening her hold on his shoulder. “Dare I ask what you did?”

“It may have had something to do with a minion and a windowframe,” he admitted. “And I may have been applying myself to my work with enthusiasm of which M would have been proud – ow!” Bond looked up and could see Vesper smile in the mirror. “Accidental self defenestration,” he explained, and saw her give her head the tiniest shake, the purse of her lips changing from concentration to amusement for a second. Vesper looked up then, and saw Bond watching her in the mirror. Her lip thinned. “Done?” Bond asked.

Vesper shook her head. “I still don’t know why you were out chasing Le Chiffre’s lackeys. Not that you hadn’t completely compromised your cover already, but you could make some semblance of professionalism.” She concentrated on his back again.

“Professional?” Bond exclaimed. He made to stand, pulling away from Vesper, his muscles tightening under her hand.

“You stay,” she stated, “and do as you’re told for once in your life.” Bond sat, and held still, and watched her in the mirror. Vesper stood then, leaving just her fingertips on James’ shoulder, and reached for the whisky.

“A drink at last,” he said, watching every move in the mirror. She looked back at him, holding his gaze as she thumbed the cork out of the bottle.

“Your cut is shallow,” she commented, “but dirty.”

“It’ll heal,” Bond said, still staring at her reflection over his shoulder, attention fixed on her face. Vesper nodded, holding his eye. He saw her lift her the bottle, hold it over his back, and slowly, slowly, pour the spirit down over his skin, into his wound. He could feel the bite of it, sharp like ice or acid on top of the dull ache, feel the tendrils of pain flickering through his muscles. The smokey smell filled the warm room. Vesper still had her fingers on Bond’s shoulder, but she held him between her gaze and the burn of the whisky in his wound.

“It’s clean now,” Vesper said roughly. “Get dressed.” She put the bottle down and walked out the door.

Bond sat on the edge of the bath and took a breath, then another, before standing stiffly. He looked in the mirror, then took a pull from the almost empty bottle. He felt like he had fallen through another window.


End file.
